Surrender
by Kaizen Kitty
Summary: A different take on Season 5 episode 6, Unbent Unbowed Unbroken. Ramsay and Sansa join forces.


**i**

That night the fire blazed from a hundred little torches set about the weirwood tree. In the melting ice, the effect was marvelous. Shadows danced over the yard as the procession finally came to a stand still. And, unlike at the other wedding ceremonies he had been to, a regal silence filled the air. Soon enough he heard her footsteps, crunch crunch over the snow.

Ramsay couldn't take his eyes off her.

She wore a white winter pelt, and over it, red as the very flames themselves, dancing before his eyes, was her hair. Ramsay looked sideways, at his father, and noticed everyone was staring at her. _Well, no wonder._ He thought, returning his gaze back to the girl. This was the first time he had seen her without that hideous hair dye. And Lord how he wanted to touch it, to trace his palm over that lovely red hair, and further down, over her bare naked skin. He wanted to rip that dress off.

"Who comes forth, in the dead of night?" said Roose Bolton, his father.

Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief. He had lost his cool, but no one had noticed. Regardless, that would not happen again. He'd make sure of it. No girl would ever stand between him and the throne. Never. No matter how pretty she looked.

"L-Lady S-S-Sansa, of house S-Stark." Reek mumbled, standing awkwardly by Sansa's side in that new suit Ramsay had gotten him. He looked like a dog with its tail tucked in. Ramsay was growing rather impatient.

"And who are you, who stands here before us?" Roose went on.

Reek's knees shook in fear. He glanced over at Ramsay, then back at Roose, and for the tiniest bit of a second he even looked sideways, at the bride. She nudged him with her foot.

"I-I am Theon Greyjoy... , I h-have b-b-been a ward at Winterfell, in the care of Lord Ed-Edddard Stark."

Reek stumbled on with his speech, and no one dared say a word. But Ramsay couldn't stop a smile from passing over his lips. Though Sansa didn't smile back at him as he hoped she would. She kept looking around; at the people of Winterfell, at the Bolton house guards and his stepmother Walda, at his father, even at silly little Myranda. At everyone but him.

"I am Lord Ramsay of house Bolton," said Ramsay, stepping forward and cutting Reek's speech short. "I wish to take this Lady under my protection."

Roose gave him one of his stern disciplinary looks. A look Ramsey knew all too well. He turned his attention back to Sansa, undressing her with his eyes.

"Lady Sansa," Roose said. "Do you wish to take this...man," Roose deliberately paused at the word 'man', visibly cringing while he regarded his only son, "as your husband?"

The pause that followed seemed to last too long. She couldn't seriously be thinking about it. Could she? Ramsay's smile fell when he noticed his own father's unabashed grin. He looked back at Sansa, eyes wide. No. This couldn't be happening. Not now. He needed to secure his position as the Bolton house heir. Ramsay took a giant step forward and broached the gap between them. He didn't give a shit about the loud gasps arising all around them. He would force her to look at him. And she did.

At first he was uncertain, but that challenging glint in her eye drove him on. Without warning, he brushed his lips against hers, all the while keeping his eyes wide open. She sweetly closed her eyes and answered the kiss. That's when he knew: he had nothing to worry about. They broke the kiss and he offered her his arm. She took it, and let her guide him back to the ruined castle, leaving everyone behind.

 **...**

"Lady Sansa, have you ever been in love?"

She took a sip of her glass. Her ass was positioned on the edge of their new bed. She trembled, Ramsay noticed. It turned him on even more.

"No, my Lord."

"Me neither," said Ramsay, downing his glass whole. He narrowed his eyes at her, wantonly, "but I'd like to be."

Reaching around her slender waist, he refilled his own wine glass. The rich red liquid he poured rivalled the color of her hair. He sniffed at it again. That seemed to unnerve her the most.

Sure enough, Sansa shifted around uncomfortably. She didn't lean away or try to avoid his touch. So he trailed his hand over her spine, his fingers just itching to rip that dress off. _Not yet._ He smiled, leaning in to plant another hickey on her neck.

"You're like an animal."

Ramsay laughed heartily. "Sex is animalistic." Before grabbing and squeezing her ass. Sansa cried out.

"Stop!"

"Why? You were having fun just a minute ago." He whispered in her ear while stroking her nipples through the dress.

Sansa winced. He could see she was enjoying this, her body was responding, melting to his touch like butter to a knife. Then abruptly she stood. Ramsay stared at her silhouette from his spot on the bed.

"I can't do this." She said.

Ramsay chuckled, spreading his arms out for emphasis.

"You can. We're married."

Sansa shook her head, the ruby ringlets bouncing up and down. She hugged herself, hands coming up and covering her stomach. Ramsay glared when she started covering up her chest.

"No, I mean, I'm not ready for this. I thought I was, but I'm not." She said in a little voice, looking at him shyly.

Ramsay was boiling inside. Pieces of him were set to explode. Right now. When he rose from the bed, he saw Sansa's eyes grow wide. She took a step back. He strode forward, forehead first and eyes narrowed. She spun around and ran for the door. He ran after her. Sansa reached the door and pushed against its heavy wood just as Ramsay seized her by the waist from behind. He held on to her, while she shook and swayed every which way like a madwoman. He tried dragging her to the bed by force, which was hard. Because unlike Myranda, and every other girl he'd fucked, Sansa was big. When she tried to kick him in the balls, he yanked her by her long red hair. She screamed out. Ramsay secured his arms around hers so she couldn't move them. They were standing in the middle of the room, their bodies locked and panting from exertion.

"I'm going to take you now," he spat into her ear. "And I'll make sure you never forget it."

He gripped her closer. Sansa yelped when he set his teeth in her neck, leaving stark red bite marks in her peach colored skin. Ramsay licked the blood off as it trickled down. Then he hooked his fingers in the nape of her dress. He would rip that thing to shreds.

There was a knock on the door.

Shortly after, some greasy head peeked in. Its jaw dropped and it gaped at the flustered beauty in the middle of the room. Ramsay realized his wife's cleavage was showing.

"Get out!" he snarled.

He shoved Sansa to the bed, and marched after the intruder, showing the chest hairs through his halfway unbuttoned shirt. Head hung down and arms behind his back, he greasy man waited for him outside the door like an obedient little boy. Ramsay shut the door behind him with a bang. The intruder looked up.

"My Lord," he said.

"Spit it out. I'm having my Wedding Night this very minute."

Ramsay's fists were balled, and with red eyes he stared at the intruder, ready to jump him and skin him alive. The man backed off, protectively placing his own hands before his body. His mustache twitched.

"Well, that's actually the reason why I am here."

Ramsay put a foot forward, advancing upon the man, chest first.

"To waste my time?"

"No, no, I would never dream of doing that!" Said the man, trembling all over.

Ramsay sighed. He began to feel more at ease. Seeing fear in another person's eyes always had that effect on him. He remembered teasing the butcher's boy when he was little, just to make him cry. Ah, that was a good memory... The slimy mucus that ran from that boy's nose all the way down to the ground. Ramsay remembered it to this day. He also remembered how his father had told him at dinner to _'Never do that again'_ , when the butcher served dog instead of lamb. Why couldn't his father have flayed that butcher, or sent him to prison? His father was so unreasonable sometimes.

"The case is, " the man went on, "well you aren't officially married."

Ramsay blinked. Then he frowned, and cocked his head. The man took a few steps backwards.

"What did you just say?"

"I-I am only a messenger, my Lord."

"Repeat what you said, Doofus."

"Yes my Lord! ...I said that you, your Lordship, and the Lady Sansa, are not yet officially married by Northern law."

The man's knees shook, his eyes darted around, as if he was searching for a safe route of escape. It amused Ramsay. He didn't even want to attack the man any longer. Just watching him suffer was enough. A squeak came from the door behind him as it was unhinged, and a refreshed looking Sansa appeared in its frame.

"We are not married?" Sansa said.

All color drained from Ramsay's face. He stared at the opposite wall, hearing Sansa's soft nasal voice behind him. It was over. She would never agree to marrying him now, and his father was having another son. A legitimate son.

"No. You have not given your consent, Lady Sansa, so the marriage was pronounced illegitimate."

Ramsay flung himself at the man, landed a fierce blow to the guy's upper abdomen, and pushed him into the wall. Keeping the man's head back with his palm under the man's chin, Ramsay shouted:

" _Who_ pronounced it illegitimate? _Who?_ "

The man struggled to form words. Ramsay punched him in the gut and kicked his shins. The man had no trouble wailing after that, but talking up was beyond him. So Ramsay twisted his ear, repeating the question, this time threatening to cut his ear off if he did not comply.

"Ramsay, stop it!"

At first he didn't realize what was going on. Then he heard the words again, louder. A teary feminine voice was calling him from behind. Ramsay let go of the messenger, and slowly turned around. Partly limping, the man quickly made his escape. Ramsay stood eye in eye with Sansa.

"Come inside," she said, keeping the door open for him.

She had tears in her eyes. They ran all over her plump cheeks, wide as rivers. The look in her eye seemed to say she was staring at something far away in the distance. He sat down on the bed beside her, and cautiously looked at her. She did not tremble. She was as calm as a breezeless sea.

"What was it like, growing up with Roose Bolton for a father?"

Ramsay swallowed. All of a sudden he felt goose bumps run all over his skin. But he clenched his jaw, refusing to show weakness to a girl.

"It was okay."

Sansa stared at him long and hard. He held her gaze, frowning, not losing eye contact for a second.

"Did he make you do things?" She finally said.

Ramsay shrugged.

"I saw my first flayed man when I was five." She gasped. "In the Bolton house it's normal. The flayed man is our sigil."

Sansa shook her head, breaking eye contact and shifting a little closer to him on the bed.

"Five year old children aren't supposed to see that."

"And how old were your brothers when Eddard Stark forced them to watch a man getting executed?"

Sansa looked up, fire in her eyes.

"Reek told me all about it. He was there."

When Sansa spoke, her voice flared up. It bellowed over the entire room, perhaps even further.

"My father was an honest man who only killed criminals. People who deserved it! Your father betrayed and slaughtered my mother in cold blood. I don't want to hear about the other people he has wronged. I bet there are many."

Her nostrils were wide from anger. Her pale cheeks had turned a bright shade of red. Ramsay stared at her once so fair complexion, now mutilated by tears and blood.

"Flaying a man is not as bad as killing him. He may have lost the ability to reproduce, but he's still alive." He said, turning on the bed so he sat closer to Sansa.

She shrugged. Her features showing cold indifference.

"You should have killed Theon. He does not deserve to live for what he's done."

Ramsay grimaced. He could not tell her the truth. Even though, right now, he desperately wanted to. He wanted to be cradled in that warmth, to be held in her warm arms, to lay his head tiredly on her bosom and just fall asleep. Instead he looked sideways, and muttered:

"You can have him when he's outlived his purpose."

Instead of assenting, she said in a scathing tone:

"Will I ever outlive my purpose?"

"What? No!"

"Don't lie to me." Her eyes had _dead serious_ written all over them.

"Fine. It's true I only married you to gain a stronger hold on the North. But can you blame me? Anyone in my position would have. Besides, you are so beautiful."

Sansa gulped. And he knew he had a foot in. She shifted a little on the bed, and when she looked up, she had a genuine blush on her cheeks.

"Ramsay,"

"Yes?"

She said the next words with difficulty, her lower lip trembling. He instantly knew she had never said these words before, that no one had claimed her yet. She still was a maiden.

"I want to fall in love."

He leaned in and kissed her, slowly, on the lips. Like many girls liked it. Then he cupped her side with his hands, and slowly trailed down. Then up again to the front, and tugged clumsily at the strings of her corset. He wasn't used to fucking a lady. If a girl's clothes were ever a chore to undo, he just used a knife. They never seemed to mind. But Sansa put her small delicate hands over his.

"I'll do it." She said.

She quickly found the right string, and pulled at it. After which the corset sprung loose, exposing a little bit more of the peach colored bosom he had been exploring so far. She rocked her upper body sensually whilst getting out of the corset, and, in the dark, he could still see her smile. Ramsay wasted no more second. He untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it haphazardly on the floor. Then, on all fours, he advanced upon his bride, making animal noises and grinning maniacally.

He took her in his arms, pushed her underneath himself, and plunged his hands underneath her white dress. She was warm. Just as warm and soft as he'd imagined. She was hairy, too, down there. It came as a bit of a surprise to him. Myranda and Violet and Isabel all shaved their pussies. _Ah, it would do._ He twisted and rubbed her nipples till they were rock hard solid, while she lay there submissively, letting out little gasps now and then. Yes, he was good. He knew he was good. Ramsay watched her lying under him on the bed, her long red hair pooled around her like a fan of gold.  
That was when he unbuckled his pants and got down to business. First, he ripped her dress off, his member hanging and joggling above her as he did so. Then he watched her naked form in the moonlight. She panted in anticipation, staring up at him in childish wonder. He placed his hand over her mouth.

"Don't scream."

She nodded. When he entered her, there was a visible expression of pain on her face. Ramsay had planted his hands in the bed on either side of her, and he moved at his own pace, not trying to give her pleasure. But she obeyed and kept her mouth shut. Even when the pain got so strong she had to close her eyes.

In the aftermath, they lay beside each other, staring up at the ceiling. It was dark. The whole castle was asleep. Only night noises from the nearby forest entered their room. Things like a hooting owl, the cold winter wind, and perhaps the pitter patter of small prey like rabbits over the snowy hills.

"So, tomorrow," Ramsay began, unwilling to disturb the peace, but compelled by the uneasy twist inside his stomach.

"I will say yes."

He took a look at her, eyes wide and open mouthed. "You will?"

The reply came seconds later. Undisturbed, but a little bit cold and cynical.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

Ramsay remained silent. From his place on the bed he looked out of the window, where the moon had hidden behind a shroud of clouds. It could snow tomorrow. He trailed a finger along his wife's naked arm, safe under the covers.

"I don't know." He said, before falling into a short and dreamless sleep.

 **...**

 **Author's Note:**

 **As of now this is a oneshot. Maybe I'll make it into a longer story.**

 **Regardless, I don't believe Ramsay is such a bad person as many fans of the show make him out to be. I think he's just a very disturbed individual, who doesn't know what he's doing most of the time, why he's doing it, and desperately trying to get his father's love by copying Roose Bolton's atrocities.**

 **I also wanted to see a more emancipated Sansa this season. Especially after the season 4 finale, in which Sansa teamed up with Petyr Baelish to cover up her Aunt Lysa's death. She seemed to be growing more badass with each episode, until the enormous let down in Unbent Unbowed Unbroken.**

 **So yes, although it was not my original favorite pairing, Ramsay and Sansa as an evil power couple wouldn't be such a bad thing imo.**

 **Disclaimers are due.**

 **This is a fanfiction on the show Game of Thrones, not on the Song of Ice and Fire books by George R.R. Martin. David Benioff and Daniel Brett Weiss have not expressed their discomfort over fanfiction being written about their show, and there is a Game of Thrones category on fanfictionnet (a site which honors the wishes of authors upon request). Since none of the original creators has officially requested ffnet to take down Game of Thrones fanfiction, I take it that posting this is fully legal and in compliance with the rules. If I still need to say this, Game of Thrones does not belong to me (obviously), I am not a writer on the show (obviously), I did not create these characters (obviously), and I'm not making a penny on this (wow it sucks to be me).  
**


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